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The thing about the mountains is that you could always trust it with a good story hidden somewhere in its endless valleys and dark creeps…so pay attention.

Fictitious Date

Kurseong

One might call this a pilgrimage. But it wasn’t. This time I was going to Kurseong in search of white orchids, I’d promised I’d get for someone. Kurseong in its basic technicality meant land of white orchids. I didn’t know that either though, initially.

On a chilly wintery night, Kurseong was lost. It was like someone had erased it from the face of the earth. All that existed in it now were unearthly. Super natural. Unreal. And as one would sit completely covered with a thick blanket only maybe a part of the nose visible, one could hear strange noises coming from the lonely hills. Maybe they were just winds flowing through pine trees. Or were they?

I spent my first night burrowed inside the sheets and pillows covering every part of my body. It was raining. It was very cold. The night was wild and maybe sometimes… Just sometimes, I heard something more than a thunder. Or maybe, it was my imagination. I wouldn’t know for sure.
Our little house was a little higher up in a desolate spot and the trees had surrounded my little home. I could see the violet lightning in the sky above the valley behind my house.
I tried to sit up. I couldn’t sleep. My hands were beyond help and my eyes seemed to hover over nothing in particular. I had to smoke. The room needed some smoke.

Fictitious Date 2

Okay. Its been a day. I better continue.
So where was I. Oh yes the smoke.
I had to have the smoke. So I did. And it worked. I dozed off counting clouds of smokes..

The next morning was bright. I got myself up. Dreshened up. (Freshened+Dressed). Took my bag and left for the town. The morning was chilly and I figured I’d done wisely by bringing my gloves along. They were leather and looked quite handsome with my long thick fingers n all..
I bought a bouquet of purple flowers. As I did and will be doing every other morning.
I went to her house. Rang the bell. The door opened.
My eyes crinked as they would when in front of a light source. She was a diva. Her hair straight down with a hint of blue in the ebony black. Her eye brows thin and long as if drawn by Da Vinci himself. I’d stare at them and get lost for a while. Only a gentle brought me back…from a mouth I shall not define.
I give her the flowers. Bend down to kiss her hand. And she’d pull me in and kiss me. 1 minute. 2 minutes.

On my way back home. I’d have packets of food and a little alcohol. I had a journey of a night ahead of me. What could a little coloured fluid do to you.?

That night I realized what it could really do.

s.s.alcazar

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The girl who knew.

And so it was a delinquent Friday morning and everything around me seemed lost. Or perhaps my high from last night hadn’t had its incubation. But that wouldn’t matter anyway. I don’t have college today. So I can go back to bed and let my van drive me into the infinite.
I’ve always wanted to buy a van. And paint it like the Mystery Machine. With graffiti and Beat Generation stickers. I’m not a hippie though. Its just a fad. Maybe a month later it’ll be an electric trimmer. I wouldn’t know.
Anyhow, as I lay on my bed and looked up at the ceiling, I noticed something out of the ordinary. THE DAMN CEILING WAS COMING DOWN!!
I quickly tried to get up. But you know how that never helps. So I just lay there. Looking up as the convex thingy came down more and more. I asked myself on whether I was going to die today. But that would be sad. I promised the girl I love a date and later I had to bake a strawberry chocolate cake with extra frostings on top. And I’d look at her as she placed a slice of that cake inside her mouth and watch as the chocolate chips and strawberry topping disappear into that sensual darkness.

I could take her to Paris and romance in the rain. But that is so clichéd. So I’ve decided to romance her in a bathroom shower in a hotel in Paris. Now that’s a little less clichéd. So it’ll do.
The Mystery Machine like van would be parked inside the huge hotel parking space and people would stare at it even with the million dollar cars parked around. And some cars parked in the dark would be dancing and so people with renewed interest are going to forget about my van and move on. That would be sad.

The ceiling is still sinking and I cannot get up. Friday with all its predicaments. I saw a half filled glass of some colourless fluid. I drank it. It was lemon juice. It felt nice. The ceiling was resting. Its descending would begin soon. I was sure of it.
So nothing was of any use anymore. My remote control helicopter, my faded notebook, my illustrious pen, my God, my conscience, even my thought process. What purpose would any of it serve. I’m going to die and nobody can do anything about it. My mother would cry. My sister would cry. She would cry.

She would cry.

So I finally decided to get up.
image

s.s.alcazar

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